In the story about the emperor’s new clothes, every character is fully aware that their sovereign is naked.

This is actually the least realistic element of the tale.

Were a similar scandal to occur in the real world, many of the ruler’s devoted subjects would quickly convince themselves that the garments in question were both present and resplendent; that any accusations of nudity were the result of either idiocy or deliberate malevolence. Then, once the facts of the situation had become undeniable (like the concerning obviousness of dangling bits touching the throne), some of those same individuals would insist that they had always known the truth, but had been kept from admitting as much for one reason or another.

What makes these two scenarios surprising is that in each case, the speaker – regardless of whether they were in the throes of blind belief or asserting their omnipresent wisdom – would consciously believe what they were saying.

This is ridiculousity; the blind spot by which most (if not all) humans are afflicted.

Far from being a misspelling of the word “ridiculousness,” ridiculousity is a state of apparent or accepted mundanity which examination reveals to be absurd. Whenever someone makes an argument about having “always done things that way” without offering an evidence-based explanation as to why, there’s a good chance that the situation embodies the essence of ridiculousity. Encouragement against questioning something is another effect, as is the idea that certain concepts are beyond the realm of reasonable discourse. From the outside, these sorts of circumstances are often amusing (if not outright comical), and they have frequently served as fodder for a wide variety of entertainment. The long-running comic strip Dilbert highlights ridiculousity in the modern workplace, for example, and Nathan W. Pyle’s Strange Planet makes a lighthearted mockery of customs and concepts that many people take for granted. Seinfeld made effective use of ridiculousity, and many stand-up comics (particularly of the observational variety) thrive by calling attention to it. In a number of ways, ridiculousity is at the center of any joke about culture, society, or tradition.

Beneath that layer of humor, though, ridiculousity also has a sinister streak. It convinces otherwise innocent individuals to embrace ideals which are counterproductive (at best) or actively harmful (at worst). One often-repeated catchphrase of a person under the spell of ridiculousity – “It’s just the way things are!” – has been used as both a defense of ignorance and a condemnation of anything unfamiliar, particularly in cases where some aspect of a moral framework is being challenged. Widespread acceptance of slavery is an example from our not-too-distant history, as is the more-modern idea that homosexuality is somehow aberrant or corrupting. In these cases, ridiculousity can lead to (or even encourage) cruelty, isolation, death, or various other varieties of unpleasantness.

Needless to say, it isn’t always a laughing matter.

There is one positive aspect to this darker side, however: Ridiculousity only exists in blind spots, vanishing as soon as it is observed. Its effects may remain – they may even prompt a second manifestation of the phenomenon in a strikingly similar place – but the veneer of normalcy is easily dissolved by something as small as a cursory glance in its direction. Perhaps appropriately, ridiculousity is very much like magic… or to be more precise, the feeling of being affected by ridiculousity is very much like the sensation of attempting to embrace magic in the real world. A person can be presented with something seemingly fantastic; an occurrence that appears to go against what they know to be true or possible… but the moment that they make an attempt to get closer to it or study it, the spell is broken; the alleged sorcery is revealed to have been an illusion that was obscuring the truth.

The unknown is a darkness
And in this we cannot see
Yet we wish to examine it
To make an inquiry
But to ask will change the answer
To see will change the sight
For darkness disappears
When brought into the light

The trouble with discussing anything that evades notice is its tendency to redirect attention toward false positives. Imagine attempting to throw an iron marble at a small target between two powerful electromagnets: Aiming directly at the bullseye might work while there’s no current present, but the moment that things become charged, the chances of an accurate hit drop considerably. If the metal sphere lands on the magnets often enough, the assumption arises that no other outcome is possible; that only someone either painfully naïve or conceringly deranged would suggest that a different result might be achievable. Alterations to the circumstances (like substituting the iron marble with a plastic one) get dismissed as invalid or inapplicable, and it becomes something of a taboo to broach the topic at all.

Here is where the humor returns, at least when these situations are viewed from an external perspective. People in the thrall of ridiculousity may still be dissatisfied with a flawed status quo, but since they are unwilling to address its true nature, they build increasingly bizarre structures atop it. Consider the existence of a society wherein the threat of unicorn stampedes is the greatest concern: Each year, citizens spend obscene amounts of money – far more than they can comfortably afford – on building anti-unicorn countermeasures… but since those same countermeasures have the unfortunate side effect of snaring hapless children, special safeguards are required for every installation. These safeguards have mandated maintenance standards, the standards necessitate government oversight, the oversight is funded by extortionate taxation (along with fines levied against anyone who fails to keep their anti-unicorn certification up to date), and the only real benefit is the vague promise of protection from a menace that nobody has ever seen. Still, the populace of this community never questions the original premise, knowing (as everyone does) that voicing doubt of a unicorn’s existence is the surest way of attracting its ire.

If such a society actually existed, a great many people would be of the mind that the entire system was a ruse; a superstition being maintained and exploited by a corrupt ruling body. There are certainly real institutions which have garnered similar reputations, but to state that they are solely responsible for the existence of ridiculousity in the world would be inaccurate. In fact, ridiculousity requires acceptance on the part of the people it affects, and it only persists because those same people defend it.

Stage hypnotism offers an excellent example of this.

Although they have grown less popular in recent years, stage hypnotists used to be prevalent entertainment attractions at a wide variety of lighthearted events. A given act would usually begin with a creative spin being put on a common experience, always with the claim that the effect was the result of the performer imposing their will on the audience. (Here’s an example: Fold your hands together so that your fingers are interlocked, then extend your index fingers, leaving a centimeter-wide gap between them. Focus on that space, then imagine getting told that an invisible string is being tightened around your fingertips, drawing them together. Of course, the default resting position for your fingers would have them touching – the entanglement of the rest of them would see to that – but according to a hypnotist, you’re being influenced by an external power.) After the initial cacophony of awed and excited exclamations had died down, a number of volunteers would be selected to take places on the stage, at which point the main event would begin: One by one, these individuals would be mesmerized, then coaxed into imitating barnyard animals, impersonating celebrities, or acting like they were suffering from comical discomforts, much to the delight of any onlookers.

It should go without saying that hypnosis of this variety only exists in fiction. Reality’s population includes precisely zero mind-controlling magicians… and yet people still swear to having seen evidence of their existence. What other explanation could there be for a meek, shy individual’s sudden transformation into a blustering buffoon, if not the involvement of an enchanter?

As it happens, there is a force being applied… by the audience.

A person sharing a stage with a hypnotist – being watched by hundreds of eyes that are anticipating entertainment – has found themselves in a situation where it is more acceptable to go along with an act than it is to be seen as a disappointment. The choice is between minor humiliation that they can ascribe to someone else, or crowd-sourced disgrace for which they have been made to feel solely responsible. Then, when the supposed puppet is prompted to “wake” from their thrall, another decision is presented: They can either insist that their behavior was out of their hands, or they can admit to having put on a performance for the sake of protecting their pride (and in doing so, suffer the same indignity that they already worked to avoid). They may even convince themselves that they were truly bewitched, lest a conscious lie prove to be too troublesome. Either way, the magic is maintained, the defense is enacted, and the ridiculousity remains.

Not every such situation involves a scapegoat like a hypnotist, though. More often than not, ridiculousity arises of its own accord, usually in response to the creation of an unquestioned practice or trend. One place to observe this happening is at large buildings – particularly those with two sets of side-by-side doors – that see predictable waves of foot traffic. Visitors will fall into impromptu queues for the privilege of walking through an already open entrance, rather than taking the time to see if the second point of ingress is accessible. The standard assumption is that there must be something wrong with the other door – that it must be locked or reserved for people exiting – and that anyone who attempts to go through it will end up making a fool of themselves. Self-deception abounds here, too, with people offering any number of excuses for why they stay in line (chief amongst them being laziness or distraction), but precious few of them being willing to say “I was afraid of looking like an idiot.”

Ironically enough, that unspoken sentiment is probably the most universally appreciable one on the planet. Humans are social creatures, more inclined to travel along with the herd than to make efforts at changing its course. Fear of shame or embarrassment keeps us from saying or doing anything that might go too starkly against established expectations, even when those expectations are in conflict with our own ideals or desires. Despite this, most of us are exceptionally hesitant to cite that fear as a motivating factor (or deterrent) for our actions, to the point where spurious assertions of apathy are often seen as more acceptable than honest expressions of any other emotion. The ability to say “I don’t care what people think of me!” is regarded as something akin to a virtue, if only because it has the appearance of conferring its claimant with an immunity to outside influence. Here the irony continues, though, because if someone genuinely didn’t care about their peers’ perceptions of them, they would have no need whatsoever to say as much.

Comparing the plight of the hypnotist’s volunteer with that of the individual in the crowd highlights the self-sustaining and yet curiously self-contradictory heart of ridiculousity: When agency is assigned, it is disavowed, yet when autonomy is questioned, it is passionately affirmed. The iron marble is quick to condemn the magnet for undermining its accuracy, at least until avoiding the bullseye becomes the standard. When that occurs, suddenly the marble begins to swear that it meant to hit the magnet all along (or at least couldn’t be bothered to evade it).

Regardless of how these situations are approached, the players involved are always absolved of responsibility. Looking back on past examples offers no recourse, either, because the same blind spots persist in our memories. We are exceptionally skilled at rationalizing things after the fact, then rationalizing them again once the popular perspective has shifted. In that way, we’re much like the emperor’s subject who makes claims (even to themselves) about having always known that their sovereign was naked.

The question, then, is how one can avoid ridiculousity… and the answer is deceptively simple: There are a great many things which are difficult to discuss, either because there’s a lot of misinformation surrounding them or because the concepts are emotionally uncomfortable. Ironically, that same discomfort can be used as a marker for cognitive dissonance in ourselves, meaning that we should actually turn toward it instead of away from it. Whenever something seems unpleasant to consider, there’s a good chance that a self-imposed censor is present, keeping us from seeing that certain details don’t quite add up. That may not always be the case, of course – some of those internal responses occur for very good reasons – but regardless, it’s better to see the true cause of one’s feelings than it is to let them control our thoughts.

After all, when we blindly accept that we should feel something, whether that’s the presence of marauding unicorns or the power of a stage hypnotist, we aren’t making any kind of progress; we’re only making ridiculousity.